ROBERT went out into the thin drift, and again crossing the wide
desolate-looking square, turned down an entry leading to a kind of
court, which had once been inhabited by a well-to-do class of the
townspeople, but had now fallen in estimation. Upon a stone at the
door of what seemed an outhouse he discovered the object of his
search.

'What are ye sittin' there for, Shargar?'

Shargar is a word of Gaelic origin, applied, with some sense of
the ridiculous, to a thin, wasted, dried-up creature. In the
present case it was the nickname by which the boy was known at
school; and, indeed, where he was known at all.

The fact was, that Shargar's character, whether by imputation
from his mother, or derived from his own actions, was none of the
best. The consequence was, that, although scarcely one of the
neighbours would have allowed him to sit there all night, each was
willing to wait yet a while, in the hope that somebody else's
humanity would give in first, and save her from the necessity of
offering him a seat by the fireside, and a share of the oatmeal
porridge which probably would be scanty enough for her own
household. For it must be borne in mind that all the houses in the
place were occupied by poor people, with whom the one virtue,
Charity, was, in a measure, at home, and amidst many sins, cardinal
and other, managed to live in even some degree of comfort.

'Get up, than, Shargar, ye lazy beggar! Or are ye frozen to the
door-stane? I s' awa' for a kettle o' bilin' water to lowse
ye.'

'Na, na, Bob. I'm no stucken. I'm only some stiff wi' the cauld;
for wow, but I am cauld!' said Shargar, rising with difficulty.
'Gie 's a haud o' yer han', Bob.'

Robert gave him his hand, and Shargar was straightway upon his
feet.

'Come awa' noo, as fest and as quaiet 's ye can.'

'What are ye gaein' to du wi' me, Bob?'

'What's that to you, Shargar?'

'Naything. Only I wad like to ken.'

'Hae patience, and ye will ken. Only mind ye do as I tell ye,
and dinna speik a word.'

Shargar followed in silence.

On the way Robert remembered that Miss Napier had not, after
all, given him the receipt for which his grandmother had sent him.
So he returned to The Boar's Head, and, while he went in, left
Shargar in the archway, to shiver, and try in vain to warm his
hands by the alternate plans of slapping them on the opposite arms,
and hiding them under them.

When Robert came out, he saw a man talking to him under the
lamp. The moment his eyes fell upon the two, he was struck by a
resemblance between them. Shargar was right under the lamp, the man
to the side of it, so that Shargar was shadowed by its frame, and
the man was in its full light. The latter turned away, and passing
Robert, went into the inn.

'He said was the deevil at my lug, that I did naething but caw
my han's to bits upo' my shoothers.'

'And what said ye to that?'

'I said I wissed he was, for he wad aiblins hae some spare heat
aboot him, an' I hadna freely (quite) eneuch.'

'Weel dune, Shargar! What said he to that?'

'He leuch, and speirt gin I wad list, and gae me a
shillin'.'

'Ye didna tak it, Shargar?' asked Robert in some alarm.

'Ay did I. Catch me no taking a shillin'!'

'But they'll haud ye till 't.'

'Na, na. I'm ower shochlin' (in-kneed) for a sodger. But
that man was nae sodger.'

'And what mair said he?'

'He speirt what I wad do wi' the shillin'.'

'And what said ye?'

'Ow! syne ye cam' oot, and he gaed awa'.'

'And ye dinna ken wha it was?' repeated Robert.

'It was some like my brither, Lord Sandy; but I dinna ken,' said
Shargar.

By this time they had arrived at Yule the baker's shop.

'Bide ye here,' said Robert, who happened to possess a few
coppers, 'till I gang into Eel's.'

Shargar stood again and shivered at the door, till Robert came
out with a penny loaf in one hand, and a twopenny loaf in the
other.

'Gie's a bit, Bob,' said Shargar. 'I'm as hungry as I am
cauld.'

'Bide ye still,' returned Robert. 'There's a time for a' thing,
and your time 's no come to forgather wi' this loaf yet. Does na it
smell fine? It's new frae the bakehoose no ten minutes ago. I ken
by the fin' (feel) o' 't.'

'Lat me fin' 't,' said Shargar, stretching out one hand, and
feeling his shilling with the other.

'Ye'll do naething o' the kin',' returned Robert, darting his
hand at his collar. 'Gie me the shillin'. Ye'll want it a'
or lang.'

Shargar yielded the coin and slunk behind, while Robert again
led the way till they came to his grandmother's door.

'Gang to the ga'le o' the hoose there, Shargar, and jist keek
roon' the neuk at me; and gin I whustle upo' ye, come up as quaiet
's ye can. Gin I dinna, bide till I come to ye.'

Robert opened the door cautiously. It was never locked except at
night, or when Betty had gone to the well for water, or to the
butcher's or baker's, or the prayer-meeting, upon which occasions
she put the key in her pocket, and left her mistress a prisoner. He
looked first to the right, along the passage, and saw that his
grandmother's door was shut; then across the passage to the left,
and saw that the kitchen door was likewise shut, because of the
cold, for its normal position was against the wall. Thereupon,
closing the door, but keeping the handle in his hand, and the bolt
drawn back, he turned to the street and whistled soft and low.
Shargar had, in a moment, dragged his heavy feet, ready to part
company with their shoes at any instant, to Robert's side. He bent
his ear to Robert's whisper.

'Gang in there, and creep like a moose to the fit o' the stair.
I maun close the door ahin' 's,' said he, opening the door as he
spoke.

'I'm fleyt (frightened), Robert.'

'Dinna be a fule. Grannie winna bite aff yer heid. She had ane
till her denner, the day, an' it was ill sung (singed).'

'What ane o'?'

'A sheep's heid, ye gowk (fool). Gang in direckly.'

Shargar persisted no longer, but, taking about four steps a
minute, slunk past the kitchen like a thief--not so carefully,
however, but that one of his soles yet looser than the other gave
one clap upon the flagged passage, when Betty straightway stood in
the kitchen door, a fierce picture in a deal frame. By this time
Robert had closed the outer door, and was following at Shargar's
heels.

'What's this?' she cried, but not so loud as to reach the ears
of Mrs. Falconer; for, with true Scotch foresight, she would not
willingly call in another power before the situation clearly
demanded it. 'Whaur's Shargar gaein' that gait?'

Suddenly a bell rang, shrill and peremptory, right above
Shargar's head, causing in him a responsive increase of
trembling.

'Haud oot o' my gait. There's the mistress's bell,' said
Betty.

'Jist bide till we're roon' the neuk and on to the stair,' said
Robert, now leading the way.

Betty watched them safe round the corner before she made for the
parlour, little thinking to what she had become an unwilling
accomplice, for she never imagined that more than an evening's
visit was intended by Shargar, which in itself seemed to her
strange and improper enough even for such an eccentric boy as
Robert to encourage.

Shargar followed in mortal terror, for, like Christian in The
Pilgrim's Progress, he had no armour to his back. Once round
the corner, two strides of three steps each took them to the top of
the first stair, Shargar knocking his head in the darkness against
the never-opened door. Again three strides brought them to the top
of the second flight; and turning once more, still to the right,
Robert led Shargar up the few steps into the higher of the two
garrets.

Here there was just glimmer enough from the sky to discover the
hollow of a close bedstead, built in under the sloping roof, which
served it for a tester, while the two ends and most of the front
were boarded up to the roof. This bedstead fortunately was not so
bare as the one in the other room, although it had not been used
for many years, for an old mattress covered the boards with which
it was bottomed.

Shargar obeyed, full of delight at finding himself in such good
quarters. Robert went to a forsaken press in the room, and brought
out an ancient cloak of tartan, of the same form as what is now
called an Inverness cape, a blue dress-coat, with plain gilt
buttons, which shone even now in the all but darkness, and several
other garments, amongst them a kilt, and heaped them over Shargar
as he lay on the mattress. He then handed him the twopenny and the
penny loaves, which were all his stock had reached to the purchase
of, and left him, saying,--

'Eh, Bob, I'm jist in haven!' said the poor creature, for his
skin began to feel the precious possibility of reviving warmth in
the distance.

Now that he had gained a new burrow, the human animal soon
recovered from his fears as well. It seemed to him, in the novelty
of the place, that he had made so many doublings to reach it, that
there could be no danger of even the mistress of the house finding
him out, for she could hardly be supposed to look after such a
remote corner of her dominions. And then he was boxed in with the
bed, and covered with no end of warm garments, while the friendly
darkness closed him and his shelter all round. Except the faintest
blue gleam from one of the panes in the roof, there was soon no
hint of light anywhere; and this was only sufficient to make the
darkness visible, and thus add artistic effect to the operation of
it upon Shargar's imagination--a faculty certainly uneducated in
Shargar, but far, very far from being therefore non-existent. It
was, indeed, actively operative, although, like that of many a fine
lady and gentleman, only in relation to such primary questions as:
'What shall we eat? And what shall we drink? And wherewithal shall
we be clothed?' But as he lay and devoured the new 'white breid,'
his satisfaction--the bare delight of his animal existence--reached
a pitch such as even this imagination, stinted with poverty, and
frost-bitten with maternal oppression, had never conceived
possible. The power of enjoying the present without anticipation of
the future or regard of the past, is the especial privilege of the
animal nature, and of the human nature in proportion as it has not
been developed beyond the animal. Herein lies the happiness of cab
horses and of tramps: to them the gift of forgetfulness is of worth
inestimable. Shargar's heaven was for the present gained.